On the Seven Seas
by Temporal Distortions
Summary: Tom Riddle: captain of the most infamous pirate crew on the seven seas, master of the Slytherin, and the first Lord to become truly immortal. Life would be perfect if he weren't racing to recover his Horcruxes from a vengeful Malfoy and a traitorous crew. Harry Potter: a confused young sailor who's been roped in for the ride. Tomarry Pirate!AU.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Ominous dark clouds rolled over the white, billowing flags as the ship rocked back and forth. Waves surged and swelled and crashed and broke against the wooden hull in a steady rhythm as the _Slytherin_ pulled through the dark water. Tom stared at the fierce waves far, far beneath the flimsy wooden plank he was standing on and contemplated, once again, what would happen if he jumped.

 _When_ he jumped.

He was all too aware of the cool metal pressed against his back, of the jeers and laughter of the crew of pirates behind him, of the cruel anticipation of his former first mate as he prodded Tom slowly along the dreaded plank with his pistol...

"Go on, _my Lord_ ," the treacherous blond murmured mockingly in his ear. His heavy breath stank of alcohol and excitement and Tom could almost imagine his toothy grin as he waited for him to break, to beg, to plead for mercy.

"Fuck you," he said calmly, seething silently. Malfoy would pay, one day. Malfoy and Black and all the rest of his traitorous crew would _pay_.

Malfoy's smirk morphed into an angry snarl, and within in seconds the gun was loaded with a loud click. "You filthy _bastard_ ," he spat. "No more games, Lord Voldemort. It's time to pay the price for the secrets you keep from us, for the people you took from us. Walk," he growled.

Tom stayed perfectly still.

Malfoy tightened his hold on the trigger and made a threatening noise not unlike that of a feral wolf. "Walk! Walk or I'll shoot, you know I will!"

An abrupt, high, chilling laugh. Malfoy started in surprise. Tom turned around, knowing smirk playing around the corners of his lips. "Go on, then. Shoot, little Malfoy. Shoot me like I shot your father."

The boy snarled, animalistic, but he hesitated at Tom's sudden confidence. Confusion flickered across his sharp features, but then, to Tom's disbelief, Malfoy began to laugh.

"So arrogant even to the end. Well, my Lord, I have news for you. I know what you've done. I know all about your six little secrets, and believe me; I'll do everything in my power to destroy them."

 _What?_

"You lie," Tom hissed. "You have no idea what you're talking about." But a heavy weight had dropped in his stomach and he could feel adrenaline rushing through his pulsing veins. No one could possibly know. He had kept it a secret from everyone but his most trusted followers, his most loyal –

Oh.

He glared at the pale yet stoic figure of Regulus Black. Rebellious dark eyes stared back silently.

"Regulus kindly informed me of the matter," Draco told him, smiling horrendously like a cat that had got the cream. Both he and Tom were well aware that he had the upper hand now. "But don't worry," he continued. "I'll make sure to _take care_ of them all. I don't believe in second chances or eternal life, you see."

His grip on the pistol tightened, knuckles glowing white even in the dim sunlight. "Now, _walk_."

Tom tensed at the order, but what choice did he have? Already, he could see the rest of the crew exchanging curious looks – if Draco exposed the existence of his Horcruxes to them all, he'd have no chance at all…

A step forwards. Tom edged along the plank, treading carefully. Only days ago, he - _Lord Voldemort_ \- had been the one holding the pistol, forcing friends and foes alike off the ship. _Draco Malfoy will be the next one to go,_ he seethed silently _. When I get revenge, he'll be the first to walk. Then Regulus Black and the rest of the Black family. Then the rest of the Slytherin crew._

 _When I get back, the time will be ripe for a purging._

He took another step forwards.

The unforgiving sea swirled beneath him and now he could smell the fresh, salty spray of the ocean. The coarse ropes binding his wrists together chafed his skin and he snarled under his breath. Of all the people to betray him, he had never expected Draco bloody Malfoy. Tom should have killed the arrogant 'aristocrats' along with Draco's worthless father Lucius. He should have known the blond would have wanted revenge for his father's death, should have remembered that the Malfoys had held power over these seas for far longer than he had, should have known that his crew would have turned on him, one by one, spurred on by young Draco's poisonous whispers and what ifs...

Another step.

And Regulus Black. The boy had been young when Tom had first recruited him, but he had been so eager and willing. So obedient. He had an odd sense of morality – rare for a pirate, especially for one that worked on the Slytherin. That alone should have been enough to tip him off. Entrusting the Cup to the Black family and hinting at its true nature had definitely been a mistake…

But, no matter. When he came back, the Blacks would tremble under the might of Lord Voldemort's wrath.

A strange calm settled across Tom, stilling his trembling fingers and smoothing his features into impassiveness. He ignored Malfoy's jeers in the background and Black's silent condemning gaze. Fine. Lord Voldemort would walk the plank, but unlike those who had walked before him, he would survive.

Because above all else, above being Lord Voldemort, master of the most ruthless pirate crew on the seven seas, above being the only pirate captain to achieve true immortality, he was, at heart, a survivor.

"Any last words?" One last step. Tom breathed in deeply. He was at the end now. The toes of his boots peeked out over the edge of the plank and he could see the individual crests of each wave as the sea reached up for him hungrily. There was nothing left to do but jump. The air seemed to still around him and the crew quieted in anticipation.

"Nothing left to say?" Malfoy grinned, and what a triumphant, arrogant grin that was. He despised it.

"Fuck you," he said again, and let out a last chilling bark of laughter as he leaped into the water. A gunshot and a hissed curse sounded over Tom's head just as he hit the surface of the water.

Cold.

All encompassing, unforgiving, bitter cold. Tom sank into the dark water, bubbles trailing from his lips, as the freezing winter ocean swallowed him. The icy shock flooded him with a brief yet paralysing fear, and for a moment, he thrashed about, bound hands and legs trailing through the water, searching for something to hold on to, before he forced his body and mind into rigid composure.

The churning water calmed for a moment and he broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. Dimly, Tom was aware of the body of the ship slowly fading as the waves swept him away, and a glimpse of a familiar green flag emblazoned with a skull and a serpent was the last he saw of the _Slytherin_ before the waves pulled him back under into its icy embrace.

Had he ever felt so cold before? He recalled, briefly, a treacherous hike through snow capped mountains long ago, back when he had still been young and naive and desperate to hide his Horcruxes. The cold then was nothing compared to the freezing water now. How long, Tom wondered, before he collapsed and gave in?

But cold was good, he told himself. Cold meant that he could still feel, that he was alive.

Alive. What a wonderful thought, to be alive. To feel, to touch, to see; to freeze and burn and laugh and cry - he would welcome the cold as long as it reminded him that he would survive. Because Lord Voldemort did not give into death, and if Tom could help it, if he could get to his seven Horcruxes before Malfoy did, he would not die. Ever.

He let the waves wash over him, let the currents carry him along, let the cold take him away and douse his limbs with an icy numbness. Revenge could wait. Tom was alive, and that was all that mattered.

But, he silently wondered, how long would that last? Tales of men swept away at sea and killed by the treacherous cold sea consumed his mind. Above him, he could see faint rays of light amongst the deep ocean blue. He tried to reach out, but he could grasp at nothing and his fingers were curling into desperate fists against his firm bindings, and his legs were growing numb as they kicked weakly against the lure of the ocean void...

Tom gritted his teeth, his lungs straining and pleading for air. He would not go like this. He could not. But the weight of water seemed to press down, heavier than ever, and he could feel desperation creeping up upon him. _I'm alive,_ he told himself. I _'m alive and I can feel and I will live..._

But now, to his growing terror, the cold had permeated his body completely, and coldness was fast turning into numbness. He could feel nothing, touch nothing... the chill seeped into his bones and then he could hold his breath no longer...

Tom screamed into the silent void that was the sea as water rushed into his mouth and up his nose. Choking, he flailed around. Black spots danced around his vision. Was this what drowning felt like? _No_ , he yelled, _no no no no no..._ **_I will live_** , he screamed – but was he truly screaming if there was no one there to hear him? And then there was nothing but the cold currents dragging him down _down down_ into oblivion, into the depths of certain death, as he screamed at nothing and felt nothing and heard nothing...

His fingers brushed against cool, hard, solid steel and closed down on the chains of interlinked, rusty metal.

Tom clamped down with an iron grip, ignoring the burn of the rope as he strained his arms awkwardly over his head and kept his bound hands glued on to the steel lifeline. The worn metal chain moved and swayed as he painstakingly wove his numb fingers in between the links. Slowly, he could feel himself moving upwards, and through the dizzying haze that plagued his oxygen-deprived mind, he registered a foothold in the form of a barnacle-crusted anchor.

A ship, he realised, and he would have whooped in joy if he had not been a dignified, half-drowned, pirate Lord.

The anchor chain steadily rose, and then, just before he completely blacked out, Tom reached the surface. He heaved in a deep gasp and tasted sweet, fresh air and gulped it down greedily. The icy salt water stung at him again and he started chuckling as he clung onto the retracting anchor chain. Euphoric, he laughed helplessly, as he registered the fact that he had survived. He was alive.

Tom was still laughing when a confused black haired, green eyed man pulled the rest of the chain and its sopping wet, bound up and seemingly insane passenger onboard his ship.

"Um," said a suspicious Harry Potter. "Who are you and what are you doing on my anchor?"


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

"So," Tom said, setting his teacup down gently. "Who are you?"

The man – it was strange to call the youthful boy sitting opposite him a _man_ – blinked at him owlishly. Bright green eyes, full of fervor and life, peered at him behind thick round glasses. "I still don't know who _you_ are or what you're doing here," the man pointed out, laughing. "It's not everyday I pick up half-drowned passengers on my anchor, you know."

Tom eyed the stranger. Everything about him was a contradiction. He was shorter than Tom, with a head full of wild black hair and an oddly shaped scar on his forehead, but he drew the attention and respect of everyone else around him without fail. His scruffy jacket was stained and scratched, but the four stripes on his sleeve – denoting his position as a Captain – were stitched in gold thread. His boots were salt encrusted from many years at sea, but despite his worn clothing, his young features made him look like a rookie sailor on his first expedition.

"I'm Tom," he said shortly. He left it at that – the less detail about him, the better.

"And I'm Harry. Nice to meet you." Harry reached out and shook his hand, smiling warmly. "So what are you doing here, Tom?"

Tom took a sip from his cup, a calculating gaze fixed on Harry.

"I'm a navigator – or I was one. I planned routes and steered a merchant ship," he said finally. "But we – my crew and I – were attacked by pirates, and I was forced off board." Oh, the irony. At least the last part was true.

"Oh!" Harry's eyes softened in sympathy and pity – oh, how Tom _detested_ pity – and he shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely. For a moment, Tom was surprised by the honesty shining in those vivid green eyes. "My family was attacked by pirates, too. Horrible, isn't it? The way they prey on innocent sailors…"

"Mm," Tom hummed in agreement. He was howling with laughter on the inside.

Harry sighed and leaned back, nursing his tea. "So how many years have you been at sea, Tom?"

"Almost 15 now," he replied truthfully. He recalled his first seven years at sea onboard _Hogwarts_ with fondness. It was there that he had been introduced to the Malfoys and the Blacks, and it was there that he had first learnt about sea witches and Horcruxes…

"What are you going to do next?" Harry's voice drew him back to the present, and Tom found himself staring into curious green eyes. "I don't know," he said, shrugging. "I'll probably find another ship to take me on." _And then track down Malfoy, gut him and regain control of the Slytherin._

"Well, if you'd like, I could take you back to land," Harry offered. "We're stopping by London to restock supplies. We can drop you off there –"

"No." Tom cut him off sharply. "I'm staying at sea, thank you very much." He'd vowed to never set foot on land again, and although the oath brought a certain weight to his shoulders, he had always preferred the ocean anyway. Never walking on dry land again was a small price to pay for immortality.

Harry blinked at him and laughed. "Alright then. Well, if you're looking for another crew to join, you're in luck. Our last navigator just left and we're looking for a new one."

Tom's ear perked up. From what he'd seen of the ship, it was an impressive vessel with both masts and engines, fully equipped with cannons and almost the size of the Slytherin. And if he worked as a navigator, he could steer the ship to his heart's content and drop by to pick up his Horcruxes…

"I'd love to," he replied, flashing a charming smile at the captain. Harry grinned. "I'd hoped you'd say that. Well, come along then and I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew."

"No interview?" Tom asked as he stood up and followed Harry out the door.

"Oh, that was the interview. You passed. Congratulations."

The edges of his mouth curled into a smirk. Harry must have been desperate for a navigator if he'd accepted Tom so quickly. One couldn't help but wonder why…

"What happened to the last navigator?" Tom said. Harry shifted awkwardly and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Erm, well," he said with a guilty tinge to his words. "To put it bluntly, he died. He got shot." At Tom's raised eyebrow, Harry shrugged defensively. "Well, he lasted longer than the others, anyway. He knew the basics of how to fight and he was quite happy to help aim the cannons, so he stayed with us for… hmm… almost a year, I think?"

Curious. Since when did navigators have to fight? The thought remained at the back of his head as he walked across the deck with Harry, his long strides easily matching Harry's fast pace. He surveyed the barrels of gunpowder and the silver bullets embedded in the deck, and he frowned internally as he stared at the well-used cannons.

When they reached the main mast, Harry popped open the trapdoor. He beckoned Tom over as he clambered down the ladder. They ended up in a large, cool, dark chamber filled with sailors. In the center of the room, a round table was nailed to the floorboards. Detailed maps and used quills were scattered across the table, and… was that a blueprint for a shotgun?

When he had come here, Tom had thought that this was just another simple merchant ship, but now it was clear to him that this was anything but.

"Everyone listen up!" Harry's voice carried through the chamber and the loud chatter died down to a soft murmur. He stepped up onto a makeshift dais constructed from shipment boxes and pulled Tom in front of him. "This is our new navigator, Tom. He's very experienced and I hope you'll all welcome him to the crew."

Tom offered what he thought was a friendly wave. A loud cheer came from the crowd. "Finally!" The tall, lanky ginger at the back yelled. "Someone who looks like they know their stuff!"

Tom appraised the crowd before him. Many of them had pistols tucked into their pockets. There, some young sailors near the front that looked no older than fifteen. Some older members with scarred skin and rugged hair at the back. One with a noticeable mane of frizzy brown hair – was that a _girl_? Most of the crew seemed loud and familiar with each other. A disproportionate amount of them seemed to be redheaded.

"So," he said, turning to Harry. "What do you do here?"

"He doesn't know?" A man with a shocking resemblance to a certain Regulus Black called out. Tom barely managed to restrain the urge to jump out and strangle him. "Harry, are you serious?" Another sailor called out.

Harry stopped and turned to Tom, a serious look on his face. "Have you heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

Tom nodded. The Order of the Phoenix was an organization that targeted pirates and sought to "protect the innocent sailors". Personally, Tom had found them an absolute pain; for some reason, their founder Albus Dumbledore had a thing against pirate Lords, and so the Order had made it their personal goal to chase down the Slytherin and bring him to justice. Honestly.

Well, it wasn't as though they'd ever manage to get him. Even though their best ship, the Gryffindor, had come close to outrunning them, the Slytherin was still the fastest ship on the seven seas. Tom had built the engine, after all.

But how was that related to his new position as navigator? Unless… no, surely not. He couldn't have been that unlucky. A sudden sense of foreboding crept up on him and Tom found himself waiting expectantly for Harry to continue.

The captain in question gestured around him. "Well, welcome onboard to the Gryffindor, the best battleship in the Order's entire fleet."

Oh, shit.

Then that meant –

"Harry Potter," he breathed. The Boy Who Lived.

Tom looked at the messy haired captain in a new light. How could he have just ignored the faint scar on his head? Harry Potter, the only person to survive a personal attack from Lord Voldemort. Oh yes, Tom remembered now. Back in his first year of commanding the Slytherin, he had chosen to attack the Potters because they were one of the wealthiest merchants in the region. It hadn't been anything personal – although there may have been a prophecy or two involved – and it had been a great success for the Slytherin. The gold in the Potter's coffins had been enough to triple their stash of loot.

Yet, unusually, he had left Harry Potter alive. Normally, Tom kept to a policy of not keeping prisoners. Not even his mother, who had begged for mercy, had been spared. However, he had not killed Harry Potter, simply because he had not been able to. Tom had stabbed the boy in the head with his dagger, but the boy had not died. By some freak chance of nature, the baby had survived and lived his life perfectly content with a piece of his knife embedded in his forehead.

And now the boy had grown up and become a Captain for the Order.

Harry sighed. "Took you long enough. It was refreshing to have someone treat me normally though. I don't like hero worship and I won't have it from anyone onboard this ship, and that's an order. Let's keep this professional, okay?"

"Of course," Tom nodded courteously.

Harry looked at him expectantly.

Tom gritted his teeth. "Of course, Captain."

 **Thank you for reviewing. I've fixed a few errors in the previous chapter. I have a vague plan for where this is going, but I'm open to suggestions.**


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